


The sound of your wings

by andiownyousomuch



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen, Manga Spoilers, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiownyousomuch/pseuds/andiownyousomuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings could cause a hurricane somewhere far away… maybe that was my beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sound of your wings

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still sad, I still didn’t get over… but it was so, so beautiful. Thank you, Ishida-sensei.
> 
> I wrote this as I listened to Utada Hikaru’s [“Manatsu no Tooriame”](http://www.jpopasia.com/celebrity/hikaruutada/videos/manatsu-no-tooriame::57432.html) on repeat: my small tribute to Arima.

If the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings could cause a hurricane somewhere far away… maybe that was my beginning.

When a butterfly invaded the garden, called by the flowers.

The moment it got close to me, I caged it in my hand.

 _“What’s the matter, Kishou?”_ someone asked me, and for an instant, I couldn’t answer.

 _“… A bug,”_ I simply said.

As soon as that man gave me his back, disinterested, I walked to the window, fist closed, carrying that small living creature with me.

Like it was a secret.

All that time, the butterfly fought against my skin, trying to free itself from the chains of my fingers.

It would have been simple.

It would be enough to close my fingers, to crush it in my hand.

Taking a life was easy, and the butterfly was delicate, fragile like that.

But I wondered.

Who was really confined?

Was it the butterfly, which fought so desperately to be free?

Or was it me, who was meant to destroy everything that I touched?

 

* * *

 

If the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings could cause a hurricane… maybe you were my storm.

My storm, made of small things.

A butterfly.

A poem.

Books.

The horse pin.

Your smile.

Things that, no matter how small, changed my path forever.

_"I’ve… always… hated it. I hated myself, who only ever stole from others…”_

To open or close my hand,

To save or to take,

From everything, I chose you.

_“I was finally… able to leave something…”_

The butterfly still debated itself against the palm of my hand, even after all those years ago.

Your tears fell upon my cheek, mixing with mine.

Your arms were around me.

My old and long-awaited friend finally came… and I smiled.

I reached out my hand to the sky,

to let the butterfly go,

to touch your face.

The sound of its wings reached my ears.

Please, don’t cry for me…

But thank you for crying for me,

_"Hai…”_

_…se._


End file.
